


a Wolf and his Dog

by alifetime



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifetime/pseuds/alifetime
Summary: synonym 1. wolf overpowers you.synonym 2. dog follows your lead.[ this fic deals with issues regarding disordered eating ( otherwise not specified ) and anxiety. please take note of this ]
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	a Wolf and his Dog

**Author's Note:**

> warning(s): eating disorder otherwise not specified ( thoughts and actions taken ), anxiety , social anxiety , references to insomnia , implied / references to ocd...
> 
> this fic has been a long time coming. i have been writing this for a couple of months whilst doing thorough research on the issues regarding eating disorders as well as consulting a close friend of mine who suffers from an eating disorder. 
> 
> so , this one is dedicated to my friend and to those who also suffer from an eating disorder. wishing her all the best and love from me and others out there willing to help. 
> 
> aziraphale's point of view deals with the happenings of someone who suffers from an eating disorder ( such as my friend ) and may not be the best to read when dealing with such a difficult time. crowley's point of view is done from an outside person's perspective ( for example , my view ) on the disorder , dealing with both point of views in order to show the effects from both parties. 
> 
> all the best ♡
> 
> -sorah

Angels didn’t need to eat. That was lesson one that … wasn’t exactly a  _ lesson. _ It was common knowledge that an angel could very easily survive without eating. She didn’t create them to feel hunger. However, after inhabiting the human domain for so long, Aziraphale started to  _ feel  _ that hunger.

Humans had a way of making the strangest ingredients taste delectable in the simplest of foods. Sushi was a favourite of his. The first time he had tried the rice dish he had been sitting alone, an outsider to the others surrounding him as the chef of the house offered him some of the food. It was salted and wrapped in fermented rice as sushi should be, and that was the first real taste Aziraphale had for the human world.

Today, he still enjoys a variety of foods to be placed together every single day. He is always willing to try any new food that appears on the menu when he visits a restaurant. 

Lesson number one should have taught him enough. But it hadn’t.

He even started to watch what he was eating before Gabriel had jabbed a little at him for liking food. Liking something as valuable as food isn’t in Gabriel’s list of things to jive at but he would occasionally get at the chance. A snide remark such as, “Lose the gut.” went through one ear and out the other. Aziraphale had heard it so many times before, and after a while, he became used to the comments. 

His weight fluctuates every single day. It has done since the 1940’s when he started to pay attention to his body. 

Falling for Crowley wasn’t exactly one of his brightest ideas. And it so much as clicked at the church that night, thinking perhaps Crowley cared more for him than he let on. (And in the back of his mind, he knew logically that Crowley had cared for him for thousands of years now, as Aziraphale had for him).

A little spark in his brain knew the attraction was unnecessary for an angel. After all, they are capable and willing to give love; to find and feel love. Not to love for themselves; it was selfish of an angel, as it should be for a demon. But they take it anyway.

_ (no matter demon or angel, both have love; perhaps wholly different, but love lives in the air created within the earth. aziraphale knows there would be no survivors without it) _

_ _ No matter how hard he tried to suppress his feelings, he couldn’t help it from blossoming the more he thought about it. That night in the church, how Crowley had given him his books, he had a gentleness in his features when he looked at Aziraphale. The angel could have sworn the demon felt it too—that he loved him back. 

Aziraphale had looked down on himself and thought maybe Crowley could love him back. He’s always been very subtle when it came to his true feelings. He avoided Crowley as much as he could. 

However, in the more recent years, he and Crowley have been seeing more and more of each other. In the subconscious part of his mind, he knew he started taking better self of his appearance when he found himself trying to somewhat impress Crowley. He shouldn’t be doing it for Crowley, he should be doing it for himself. Although, when he found his eyes wandering over other people who walked the streets with him, he saw that he most likely outweighed most. 

Eventually, he did start doing it for himself. Besides, he wouldn’t have this chub if it wasn’t for the fact he was eating; angels did not need to eat. Neither did demons. They shouldn’t feel hunger. But Aziraphale had. And he still did. Even when he tries to cut down. It is because he has become so used to eating every single day that his angelic body has become prone to what human’s desire most: food. 

The concept of food in itself started to make him a little more than anxious. Whenever he walked passed a bakery, café, even a damn restaurant, his stomach gnawed at his insides. He’s always so  _ damn _ hungry. But he must stop. If it wasn’t for anyone else, then for himself. He feels as if doing this for himself will make himself feel better. When he’s thinner, he’ll be happier. 

The day Crowley invites him out for food he doesn’t decline. He needn’t more pressure on his back. With Crowley inviting him out and him debunking his offer will look suspicious. And he couldn’t express how much he detested the food he was eating. The taste was bursting on his tongue, but when he swallowed, he couldn’t help how nauseous it made him feel. 

The next time Crowley and he went out, he ordered one thing less than the last. His order is complete with some hot cocoa and a simple ham sandwich.

“Aren’t you going to order more than that, angel?”

It was said so softly, yet Aziraphale could hear the undertones of amusement. The fact that Crowley thought Aziraphale could order  _ more than that _ made the angel feel especially greedy for his past actions if Crowley noticed.

“I’m not that hungry, Crowley,” Aziraphale responded lightly. He was ready to tuck into his meal, watching with discontent as Crowley sipped on a black coffee. It is all he ever orders. Aziraphale cannot remember the last time he saw Crowley simply nibble on something. 

The demon let out a snort, sitting up more in his chair. “It’s unlike you do not have an appetite. How come? Big breakfast?” His eyebrows were raised in surprise.

That was the thing; he did have a big breakfast. And he wasn’t about to lie to Crowley; the demon knows the angel has thrice big breakfasts, lunches and dinners.

“Something like that.”

Crowley let it go, and the amused smile never left his face. 

The big breakfasts that were laid out with some delicious French toast, hot cocoa and a couple of pancakes decreased the next day. He was left with the French toast and hot cocoa. 

What Aziraphale found was that he was becoming accustomed to keeping control of the foods he ate. Every once in a while, in the next few weeks, he still added a couple of pancakes, or even one of he was feeling generous with himself. But that meant to decrease the foods he ate at lunch. He also found that reducing the amount he ate for dinner was leaving him hungrier in the morning. He couldn’t work out what was better for him; to have a bigger breakfast or a bigger dinner.

And after a while, Aziraphale stopped going out to eat with Crowley. The demon didn’t protest, simply because they still met up every week to spend their time in St. James’ Park. 

“I was wondering…”

These conversations about food always stuck out to Aziraphale. 

“I just thought of this, but I know you’re trying to avoid eating out with me.”

Aziraphale doesn’t exactly have the best poker face. Nor is he a good liar. That, however, does not stop him from trying. “It’s not that I’m avoiding you, dear boy. I’m right here, am I not?” He smiled gently at the demon beside him. He was in his usual slouch, no shame nor dignity to sit like a gentleman. 

“I think you know what I mean, angel.” Aziraphale recognises the faint annoyance behind the jab. 

The demon manoeuvred himself so he was sitting on the bench properly, his gaze drifting to the angel. Aziraphale avoids his eyes, looking out towards the lake as if the ducks nipping at the bread crumbs was the most important thing on his mind right now. 

_ (anything to avoid the demon’s stare) _

_ (the shades didn’t mean anything to aziraphale) _

_ (he could read crowley like a book) _

_ _ Without saying anything else to push the subject of Aziraphale avoiding Crowley, the demon stood up. He stretched his arms over his head, a small sigh leaving his lips as he stared back down at the angel who had yet to follow in his steps.

“C’mon,” he says, “some ice cream for that tummy of yours, yeah?”

“Wh-what? Oh, Crowley, please, I’m not—”

“Hungry? Sure you’re not.”

Aziraphale didn’t have much else to say. He was surprised at the bluntness that came from Crowley’s tone. He was even more surprised when Crowley stuck out his hand, curling his fingers in and out in a gesture for the angel to take it. Aziraphale avoids his gaze again as his hands shakily linked with the demons, feeling his face heat up at the action.

Crowley didn’t like to take no for an answer when it comes to dragging Aziraphale out of his bookshop to eat out with him. 

Week by week, Aziraphale cannot help but look over to find the little amount of food Crowley always had on his plate. Always less. Always something healthier. Always  _ lesser  _ than Aziraphale.

_ “You should eat more, Crowley.” _

_ “You know me, angel, I don’t get hungry. Think of it as you and sleep. I love the hibernation, have you ever tried to sleep before?” _

That conversation was beyond the point Aziraphale was trying to get across. Crowley was skinny because he didn’t eat. He knows logically that if they were human, Crowley would have to be eating a lot more than he is now. It’s dangerous to eat as little as  _ that  _ a day. Who knows? Maybe their outings are the only times Crowley eats? And that is enough to make Aziraphale feel more than a little insecure. 

His eyes persistently jump from one table to another. No one else seemed to be eating as much as he. Everyone seems to be healthier than he is. Everyone is littler than he is. And everyone seems to be staring at him. Their eyes wandering to the table him and Crowley sit at. Some have smiles on their faces. Some giggle. 

They are all staring at him. 

“Are you gonna eat that, angel?” 

Aziraphale looked at the half-eaten chocolate cake on his plate. He couldn’t stop swallowing; his eyes were avoiding every table as much as possible. He’s never felt so out of his depth. 

Aziraphale picked up the fork and ate the rest of his cake. Only so Crowley would stop staring at him like a wounded puppy. 

It took a while, but he discovered a solution; if he were to count the calories in each meal he was eating, he can maintain a healthy diet. 

With time, he started cutting out all the sugary junk he loved to have daily. He no longer had his normal breakfast; what was left of it was some ripe fruit for the morning. It was never enough to satisfy him but he had to push on if he wanted his body to become used to this. And, already, he was feeling the difference.

For starters, his tummy was beginning to lose its pudge. Moreover, he found that a little bit of exercise never hurt anyone. He mimicked what he used to see Gabriel doing—running was a lot of hard work, but he felt good about himself afterwards. 

However, that was not going to last long. Aziraphale isn’t the biggest fan of exercise and decided that perhaps it wasn’t the best way for him to lose the weight he wants to get rid of. 

When he saw the numbers on the scales decrease, the harder he tried. It was then that he decided he had a goal weight. 

He can’t help but let his eyes continue to roam Crowley when they are put together; whether that be at a restaurant, a cafe, a walk in the park, anywhere that requires Aziraphale to judge anyone that is apparent to be thinner than him. And in time, he believed his body weight was beginning to match those he deemed to be closer to. 

Even though he hasn’t spoken to the angel’s that reside mostly in heaven, he still preferred to watch himself when he was around them. It shouldn’t matter what they think. After all, they have never been particularly nice to him. Why should their opinion matter?

You see, it is easier said than done. Something switched in his brain, telling him it is the right thing to do. 

He would be a good angel if he looked like the others.

So when he and Gabriel came face to face after many months after the Apocalypse that never came to be, the man didn’t say anything about his weight. He didn’t make a snide remark on how bad Aziraphale was at being an Angel. 

And he felt so good. 

His obsession gradually counted down the number of calories he had a day

_ (if gabriel no longer made comments about his body, then it must be working) _

and he found that he needn’t have breakfast he would have in the morning each day. He didn’t have to order so much food at the cafe. He began following in Crowley’s footsteps and ordered a drink; one tea for him, no more hot cocoa with extra marshmallows and whipped cream.

No one was staring at him anymore. The waiters’ gaze didn’t seem as judgemental as before. He began to look at what a normal person would look like in society. 

“Have a big breakfast?” Crowley had mumbled the first time he ordered his tea with zero sugar and no milk. It felt like  déjà vu.

He had tried it at home. He hated the way it tasted; no sweetness, no delectable cream to no milk. It wasn’t worthy to satisfy his thirst, yet he feared that if he added just the slightest bit of milk—just the tiny teaspoon of sugar—he would gain the weight he had worked so hard to cut off; all of that weight he had worked so  _ damn hard _ to lose. 

_ (it was only a few more pounds until he reached his goal weight _

_ (only a few) _

Aziraphale nodded at Crowley’s question. He smiled sweetly as he always did. One way to fool Crowley.    


_ (god, maybe he is the devil) _

“Yes, dear boy. I’m afraid our lunches are beginning to cut short.”

Crowley would always finish first because all he would order was a black coffee. He told Aziraphale he didn’t get the pleasure in eating as much as he did with sleeping. Now that the angel is ordering as little as Crowley, their lunches last at least half an hour before they part ways. 

“I’m not trying to be funny, angel, but are you purposely trying to lose weight?” 

Aziraphale swallowed agonisingly slow at the question. Crowley had poked at the sleeping bear—the question caught the angel off guard and he suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. 

He subconsciously looked around him; he and Crowley had been walking for at least a mile. Aziraphale insisted more distance between the café and the bookshop, and who was Crowley to deny Aziraphale’s wishes? And since London was always going to be busy, Aziraphale was able to catch sight of all the different types of people he was walking past. To him, all of them screamed at him that he wasn’t just like them. They had small and petite builds that framed their angular faces and luscious, coloured hair. It was a shape of their bodies he couldn’t seem to achieve. How could _ Gabriel  _ achieve it? How could  _ Crowley?  _

“Well,” Aziraphale began nonchalantly, “I suppose having a healthier diet would mean I could get around a lot easier.”

“Azira—”

“None of that, Crowley,” he cuts him off sharply. He didn’t mean for it to be so abrupt. “I think it is time I cut back anyway, don’t you think?”

Crowley laughed. He was unamused by this statement. “Angel, I don’t think you need to lose any weight at all. You’re already getting thinner, I can see it.”

_ You’re already getting thinner.  _ Aziraphale’s lips almost twitched into a smile. After all, if Crowley noticed, how bad could it be? If he was becoming thinner to Crowley’s eyes, then he must be for everyone else. The numbers on his scales at home almost meant nothing until now. Only a pound every week would go, and it was addicting to watch it go down. 

Eventually, after hearing those words from Crowley, the numbers on the scales were rapidly changing from the bigger numbers to the prettier smaller ones. Yet, when he stared at himself in the mirror, he saw no difference. He had abandoned his normal trousers for a bit and tried on the modern-day tight-fitting jeans. He couldn’t see past the tummy he had, nor the thigh fat he had. It only made him sigh shakily, tears brimming at the edge of his eyes.

There was no use in crying over such a ridiculous thing. He would just have to work harder.

From the beginning, he knew the entire fiasco revolves around control. And if he didn’t have control, then he was not doing it correctly. 

Aziraphale didn’t notice the difference. Crowley did. 

*****

Demons didn’t need to eat. But most of them did. 

Eating was something humans did to survive. Eating was something Demons did because they enjoyed doing so. There was nothing wrong with enjoying food, either by survival or pure indulgence. 

Crowley didn’t mind the odd snack here and there. But his body wasn’t used to persistently eating like most of his fellow demons do. He much preferred sleep. And if he ended up hibernating more than a few months at a time, well, then, no one has to know. 

He knew that a lot of angels didn’t eat because of greed. They neither needed it to survive, but anyone with the right sense of mind will find at least one snack they thoroughly relish. Crowley will never admit to anyone (not even Aziraphale) that he savours the taste of Jaffa Cakes. 

However, he knows that if any angel or demon were to base their lives around eating, then they are bound to gain the weight that their miracle cannot hide. 

Crowley finds that there is nothing to be ashamed of when someone has a little bit of fat on their body. He looks at Aziraphale and believes he is the perfect body shape. The angel has always been beautiful in Crowley’s eyes, and the demon is sure the angel has attracted many other eyes in the past 6000 years. Being too thin is nothing to go by. Sometimes, it is just the way your body has been built. Crowley will never understand why the majority of girls deem it necessary to have a thigh gap when scientifically, if your body is not born that way, then it is impossible to get one. God made you in Her image, so why not appreciate it?

Despite this, Crowley knows this is such a toxic way of thinking. Both from his part and to those who do struggle with their body image. 

When laying eyes on Aziraphale, he feels as if he is watching a wolf and his dog. The angel is simply following whatever he believes is best for him which may be one of the most dangerous ways of thinking. 

“Are you hungry, angel?” 

“No. We could take a walk up to the park, though?”

In the back of his mind, Crowley knows he shouldn’t be getting frustrated at those repetitive comments. He’s not necessarily agitated with Aziraphale (in reality, he never could be), he’s angry at himself for not noticing before this started spiralling out of control. He watched as Aziraphale ordered less and less, drank less and less and eventually started declining going out to eat at all. 

Crowley is inclined to feel as if he should never be forgiven, and because of this immoral, the guilt that presses down on his chest every time he thinks about how he could help Aziraphale is almost unbearable to handle. The fact that he and his angel can no longer go out to eat because Aziraphale is too anxious to even begin to think about food.

Before him, Aziraphale is losing weight. But not in a good way. 

“Would it kill you to know that this ice cream is only 300 calories?” Crowley regretted saying this as soon as the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t take that back now. He has no idea what Aziraphale has eaten today, and for all the demon knows, the angel could have had his calorie intake and is giving himself a day to treat himself. 

Crowley watched as Aziraphale pushed the bowl of little ice cream away at their little bench outside the cafe they were visiting. 

“What have you eaten today?” This is one way to dig the hole the angel is currently being swallowed by much bigger. 

“I’ve had breakfast,” Aziraphale said defensively. Crowley could see past the little white lies

_ (little white lies consist of sneaking food, not avoiding food) _

and decides to not to point out the obvious. 

“And how many calories was that?”

Aziraphale swallowed, still not making any move to eat the rest of the ice cream. “Enough.”

“Did you know that the average adult has to intake at least 2000 calories a day to maintain a healthy lifestyle.” Crowley only tried this little fact to help Aziraphale. He cannot be eating more than 1000; his face is gaunt in comparison to the natural white his skin is. Crowley never misses the shaking hands nor the way he has started wearing a thicker coat over his body to shield himself from the bitter winds. “I would say this ice cream plus the breakfast would make an average of only 500 calories today.”

“Why are you doing this, Crowley?”

The demon hated how sad Aziraphale sounded when he asked Crowley this. But Crowley cannot seem to wrap his head around the fact that his best friend is gradually wasting away before his eyes. He only wanted to help and he is going about this the wrong way. 

Crowley sighed at this thought and frowned, searching the emotions that lay behind Aziraphale’s eyes; they were sad from the altercation Crowley may be leading up to, but he’s also miserable. He’s unhappy and Crowley wants to help. He just doesn’t know-how. 

“I - look, I’m sorry, angel. I just want to understand why you’re doing this to yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong, Crowley— ”

“It’s nothing wrong until you go too far. Everyone wants to lose a few here and there, but it’s when it becomes too much—”

“And I’ve lost a few ‘here and there’. Doesn’t mean I’m going past anything abnormal.”

Crowley can see the signs, he’s not stupid. Being born 6000 years ago did not make him unaware of these circumstances. 

“At least eat the rest of that ice cream.”

Aziraphale eyed it with a nauseating sense of disgust. Not at the pudding, but himself for even thinking of eating the rest.

Crowley could only hold back a sigh of relief when Aziraphale did eat the rest. That doesn’t mean to say it always happened. 

Aziraphale never ate in front of Crowley after that. And it made the demon feel more than a little bad for saying that crap to the angel. 

The best he could do was research on how to help out. Simple rules, though they should be considered.

Crowley found that to comment on how they look was one of the worst things to do. He never outwardly said how he thought of Aziraphale (and it was nothing in terms of bad, he loves the angel) but a few times he had said how much weight Aziraphale had been losing. And he never missed the way the angel’s eyes would subconsciously look down on himself in utmost disgust. 

You see, it may not be something Crowley will understand—or people who do not struggle with the prospect of eating and drinking what is good for them—but even if you tell that person that they look  _ smaller, thinner,  _ like they are deteriorating into a  _ ghost, _ their minds will twist and turn those words into a negative outlet. They will see those intoxicated words as a  _ challenge.  _

Forcing them to eat isn’t an option, which Crowley has found himself guilty of. Encouraging is a lighter word. And he tried this with Aziraphale—

“Do you wanna get something to eat?”

“I have some chocolate here if you’re up for some?”

Crowley, despite his apparent distaste for food, begins leading Aziraphale to the café and ordering more than just a black coffee. If it means to let Aziraphale know it is okay to eat, then so be it. He would do anything if it meant Aziraphale could be comfortable in his skin again.

Crowley finds that one of the reasons why it is so hard to start a normal, healthy diet again is because they grow so used to the hunger pains that they begin to feel … happy with them. No longer does feeling full satisfy them, but feeling empty couldn’t bring them more pleasure when in reality the dark depths of their minds are gradually melting into nothing but mush. 

Aziraphale is no longer happy. He’s seen the way the angel has placed his fingers over his wrists to see if his thumb and finger connect. He’s seen his eyes glance at others who are younger and prettier than him. He’s heard offhand comments Aziraphale makes of himself. He’s heard how Aziraphale believes himself not good enough.

It’s almost as bad as seeing and hearing Aziraphale cry. 

“When did this whole thing … start?” Crowley knew that approaching the subject would awake the bear, but he had to bring it up eventually. If Aziraphale spoke more about a problem he wouldn’t admit to having (or worse of all, he didn’t think there was a problem at all) then perhaps he would slowly start to realise that Crowley was right and that thinking like this was one of the most unhealthy ways to think. 

“Nothing really … started, Crowley.” Aziraphale sat opposite him. They were in his bookshop, resting, surrounded by too many alcoholic beverages and not enough sleep—at least on Crowley’s part. “It just … happens.”

“And do you know how bad those thoughts are?”

“Of course you do, you’re a demon.”

Crowley scoffed. “That isn’t how things work, angel.” 

“I don’t see why you are so adamant on this topic.”

“I can tell you’re avoiding it.”

“That is the point.”

Crowley lent down, his head ready to be buried in his hands when Aziraphale sighs, a little shaky and ready to crack.

“It hurts.”

Crowley, abandoning the quest to dig himself a hole, looks up, confronting the angel in front of him. “Hurts?” he repeats. “What hurts, angel?”

Aziraphale wouldn’t look at him. His face is gaunt and his lips are blue from the cold they had just come from outside. The coat that once fit his arms so smoothly hung low and overgrown. His hair was thinning, his once blue eyes have turned grey. 

How could that have happened to an angel? 

“The whole thing,” says Aziraphale. “When I see you eat I can’t help but let it hurt.”

“Angel, just tell me,” Crowley says gently. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Aziraphale smiled, though it wasn’t sincere. “It’s silly, but … It’s like looking …” He cut himself off and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Whether you feel the same or not, I don’t exactly see what I want to see in a mirror.”

Crowley knew what Aziraphale was getting at. It would be much harder to get him to admit that sometimes you can go too far without it being your fault. 

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between wanting to lose a few pounds and then deprive yourself of food for the rest of eternity.”

“I’m an angel, Crowley. I needn’t to eat anything. You don’t.”

Crowley sighed irritably at himself. He watched as the angel’s face dropped at this and sat up a little straighter if only to show Aziraphale he wasn’t agitated with him. “We may not need to eat anything, but becoming accustomed to food will make you deteriorate like any other human.”

“You don’t eat—”

“You don’t sleep,” Crowley interrupted promptly. “Does that mean I should try sleeping less often?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “That’s not the same and you know it.”

“No, no, no,” Crowley shook his head vigorously and quickly stood up, making his way over to Aziraphale. The angel backed away in his seat, his gaze was uncomfortable and almost unforgiving as Crowley took his hands. They were still shaking, and the tips of his fingers were cold—unfamiliar from the usual warmth they radiated. “You don’t understand, Aziraphale.” He squeezed the angel’s hands and Aziraphale never swiped them from the demon’s grasp. He remained still, looking down at their joined hands. “It’s not the same but not completely different; if I stopped sleeping, my body would gradually tire itself out until I drop unconscious. Yours is—dare I say—more dangerous. Not eating can end with you dying.”

“It’s not like I don’t ever eat—”

“But you’re not eating _enough!”_ Crowley burst out. He sounded close to tears but he swallowed it back. 

Aziraphale shrunk back, trying to let go of Crowley’s hands. 

“I—” A sniffle, and Crowley feared the worst; he could have made Aziraphale cry. “I can’t, Crowley. K-knowing I’m not what the angel’s want; knowing I will never be in Her perfect image just—”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley stood and sat next to the angel. They were still holding hands, and the demon couldn’t help but run his fingers over the angel’s boney knuckles. “Why care about what they think? Why not care about what you think?”

“I do care—about the image I portray, how everyone else may look at me if I don’t portray that image—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley said suddenly. And the truth is, from the beginning, he never did care what Aziraphale looked like. He never found him to be overweight, nor did he find him particularly skinny. But to Crowley, that is what someone should look like; they should enjoy the food they choose to eat, they should go without having to look at the media that portray bad body image for young impressionable audiences (as well as people a little older, because it can affect anyone) and they should definitely go without having to see what they think is a body that should not belong to them. Alas, Aziraphale fell to one of the rated percentages of suffering from something as extreme as this: an eating disorder. “I never cared, angel. Before you started losing, I loved you the way you were.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but it didn’t stop the angel from sighing shakily and squeezing at Crowley’s hands. 

“Granted, it is going to take you a while until you understand just how intoxicating this set of mind is. But I’m here to help, whenever you feel the need to.”

“It’s hard.”

“I know,” says Crowley. “It will be. You're seeing things no one else sees, and that isn't your fault. But it will only get better if you’re willing to help yourself. I can’t always be there to help you; you cannot just do it for me. Do it for yourself.”

There was a moment of silence. Crowley couldn’t help but stare at their linked hands. Both holding each other as if the other will slip away at any second. 

“I’m tired,” the angel admitted in defeat. “I’m tired of feeling cold, of feeling hungry. I’m tired of not liking the foods I once liked.” Crowley did not cut the angel off this time, content to let him talk. Even though it was only the little things, he is still speaking of it in front of someone he trusts. “But I don’t know if I can. It terrifies me, Crowley.” Another sniffle and Aziraphale looks at Crowley for the first time in a while. 

“And I’ll be there for those times, Zira. You won’t have to go about this alone.”

A smile appeared on the angel’s face. Crowley doesn’t think he has seen Aziraphale smile like that in such a long time. It was small, almost subtle, but it was there, with his eyes twinkling a light blue again. 

“I will sort this out,” Aziraphale says, his voice more confident than it had been earlier. “I miss my food.”

Crowley laughed lightly. Both knowing that they could be happy if it meant for a minute. “I would too if I were you.”

Seeing the dog break away from the wolf was a tough thing. And something like this can carry on for years, and years and years. Sometimes it may never stop—their appearance is improved, and they can eat, sleep and drink assuringly. It doesn’t mean people still don’t have the thoughts. Because what Crowley sees and has come to realise that an eating disorder is just that: a mental disorder, not a physical illness. 


End file.
